


The Eskimo Way

by pletzel



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, First Dates, Fluff and Humor, Fluff without Plot, Friends to Lovers, Not Blaine or Klaine Friendly, Tumblr: fuckurtadvent, sort of snowed in if you squint i guess, what should have been the s5 christmas episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5391923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pletzel/pseuds/pletzel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing about Finn and Kurt's quick shopping trip goes to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eskimo Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raivinglunatic](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=raivinglunatic).



> There is nothing here but several thousand words of plotless Christmas fluff, inspired by a lovely piece of art drawn by  
> [Maddie](http://beebeesrps.tumblr.com/post/133667630774/i-commissioned-a-piece-of-art-from-starkurt-for) and the fact that I've made it this far in Glee fandom without succumbing to the fluffier-than-a-marshmallow snowed-in trope.

On his first day of winter break, Finn just wants to marathon old Christmas episodes of The Simpsons and drink eggnog.

Kurt, though, interrupts him mid-slurp. “How about a trip?” he suggests.

“To, like, the movies or something?”

When Finn looks at Kurt, he has one hand on his hip. “A shopping trip. To the outlet mall, then the Antique Mall. _Stat_.”

“I have to go?” Finn sighs, noticing how Kurt's dangling the keys to Finn's truck like some sort of reward. “I have to _drive_? You’re not the boss of me, dude,” he murmurs, though really, they both know Kurt kind of _is_.

“It’ll be fun,” Kurt insists. “And this way, you can buy Carole something other than one of those awful Lifetime DVDs we’ll all end up having to watch.”

“Still not selling it.”

Kurt’s mouth curves into a smile. “I’ll make my baked ziti?”

“Fine.” Finn downs the rest of his eggnog. It occurs to him that he _could_ beg out of driving by pretending it’s the kind with the rum, but he’s saving those kinds of get-out-clauses for something _truly_ horrible, like watching Blaine perform Perry Como hits in an assisted living facility.

\--

Really, Finn isn’t that pissed at all. He’s maybe a little _too_ eager to spend time with Kurt after not having seen the guy since Thanksgiving. He’s so eager he doesn’t check the weather forecast before setting off. The snow’s beginning to fall steadily, and Finn grimaces as he pulls out of the outlet mall’s parking lot; he really hopes that squeaking noise was his tires, and not a small woodland critter meeting its end.

“I don’t get why we can’t do normal things,” Finn says. “And it’s not like Mom’s hard to buy for. She really _is_ happy with a DVD and a Yankee Candle.”

“Carole has enough Yankee Candles to hold the world’s most cloyingly-scented séance.”

“So what did _you_ get her, Mr. Perfect?”

“The new Pioneer Woman cookbook, and a wrapped gift from Lush. But I think her only _son_ should get her something a little more unique.” He shoots Finn a pointed look. “Don’t you?”

“Like those Beanie Babies she used to collect?”

“No.” Kurt sighs, and plugs in the aux cord. “Just leave it all to me. I’ll buy the gifts, and you can give them. The last thing she needs is a star, or a pig.”

Finn turns his head just so he can roll his eyes at Kurt. “Because it’s so bad to encourage someone to celebrate the true meaning of Christmas,” he says. As the music starts up, he blinks. It’s an unpleasant distraction from the flat, familiar scenery they both know so well. “Dude. What in the hell is _that?”_

“That, Finn,” Kurt explains like a parent reassuring their kid Santa exists. “Is ‘A Kylie Christmas’.”

“Well, it sounds like a chipmunk trying to serenade a bottle of Mrs. Butterworth’s. My truck, my tunes.”

“Did you remember to _bring_ your tunes?” Kurt says, sweetly.

God, his brother can be such a brat, sometimes. Finn tries to ignore the music, as he thinks back to what he might have done with his own iPod. He looks at the scenery, which is more appealing than usual given its rapidly descending snowy blanket. He’s managing well until Kurt turns up the music and starts to sing along. Kurt’s voice is incredible, but it’s drowned out by the syrupy-voiced woman wailing about it being the most wonderful time of the year.

“This is like, musical Gitmo. Can you put something else on?”

“We’ll be there in fifteen minutes?”

“Fifteen?” Finn groans.

Kurt smiles just a touch, and reaches into his coat, extracting Finn’s iPod. “Fair enough. Hm, I wonder if I can find a playlist on here which isn’t Rachel-inspired?”

“You jerk.” Finn swats at Kurt with his hand not on the wheel, but Kurt ducks. “You had me thinking I’d lost my iPod, and you freaking stole it!”

“Ooh, what’s this? ‘That Was the Worst Christmas Ever’?”

“Don’t,” Finn says, as the strains of Foreigner’s ‘Cold as Ice’ sound out. “This time last year, I was in a pretty crappy place.”

“Me too,” Kurt mutters, and quickly skips a few songs. “Oh, I love this one!” Kurt’s grin is bright as the jaunty intro starts up, and he immediately sings along. “ _Bah, humbug, now that’s too strong, it’s my favorite holiday... ”_

“Why are you looking so happy about that? She’s singing about how she’s spending the whole year miserable because she can’t be with the dude she likes.”

“If you actually _listened to_ the lyrics, it’s about the holidays bringing people together.”

“Aww. Like, family?”

“The family in one of those Folgers commercials, maybe.”

Finn laughs, but it sounds a little hollow and uneasy to his own ears. Christmas _has_ always been his favorite holiday, and he was pretty sure it was Kurt’s favorite, too. The way Kurt’s carrying on, though, acting like he’s some bickering grade school kid isn’t cool. Finn’s wondering if maybe he’d be better off just sliding down his seat and onto the floor of his truck, where the assortment of chip packets and empty bottles of pop might cover him until Kurt decides to go back to New York.

\--

“Look at the snow,” Kurt says, his voice one part awe and many parts concerned.

“Yeah. It’s really coming down, huh?”

The pair of them are silent as they drive on. Kurt’s face seems to curve up into a smile as he watches the fat snowflakes fall on the windshield, and Finn wonders if he has similar childhood memories about this trip. Finn's mom used to drive them out to the Goodwill over in Wapakoneta all the time; he was forever growing out of his clothes, and his mom didn’t have much money. It was just the both of them for the longest time, but as he listens to Kurt’s crystal clear voice make cheesy Christmas songs sound like Broadway show-stoppers, he’s glad his family expanded. Finn drives carefully across the bridge; the river underneath is frozen over, and the banks are covered in so much snow they obscure the shingly rocks underneath.

“Please be quick,” Finn announces as he pulls up opposite the Antique Mall. 

“I’m very efficient,” Kurt says, tugging on his hat. “You keep warm, and sing along to that Springsteen Christmas album you pretend you don’t like, or have.”

“I take it back. Shopping with you is actually _awesome._ ”

“It’s not so bad.” Kurt says. “It was this, or watch Tina drool her way through ‘Magic Mike’, and that girl is _graphic.”_

\-- 

Finn really wants to tell Kurt he’s protesting too much about ‘Magic Mike’, and that it sets even more unrealistic standards for guys like him. Instead, he settles for his own private singalong, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The snow’s so heavy now that his wipers can barely keep up, and the bleak streets ahead of him look as much like any winter wonderland he’s heard in a song. Soon, Kurt’s outline becomes visible in the side mirror. He sort of looks like a prissy little Eskimo, his nose tipped with red and barely visible above his scarf as he opens the door.

“Back already?” Finn asks.

“I found these beautiful opal earrings, right by the counter.”

“Great! If I drive us back now, you’ll have loads of time for a movie date with Tina.”

“Great.” Kurt scowls. “My efficiency marks my downfall, yet again. I would suggest we grab a bite to eat, but Bob Evans or Lucky Steer both make me want to immerse myself into a deep fat fryer.”

Finn looks at Kurt, and suddenly has an idea far better than the pot roast at Bob Evans. Kurt never stated he was opposed to spending time with Finn, and a quick shopping trip and a drive singing along to bad pop covers of Christmas songs is hardly anyone’s definition of _quality time._ They could go to the movies, but they’d be bound to see at least one person they both know, and Kurt would soon be asked about Blaine. They could see a movie at the Wapa Theatre, but Finn knows from his brief time teaching at McKinley that Mr. Schue goes there to avoid his kids, and Finn really doesn’t want to bump into _him._

“You’re thinking about food, aren’t you?” Kurt asks.

“I’m thinking of a place that serves great pizza,” Finn says, as he drives his truck to the one place in Wapakoneta he can think of that will keep them warm, fed, and at least passably entertained.

\--

“Bowling.” Kurt dusts the snow from his shoulders and adjusts his scarf, his glare like an icy harpoon. His eyes twinkle a little, though; he’s not as pissed as his actions indicate. “You thought you’d take me bowling?”

“Yeah! Bowling dates are the best.”

“I’m not your _date,_ ” Kurt says, as they walk through the entrance, lit up by two winking pins and a third which lacks fluorescent lighting. “I know Rachel spoke fondly of her dates here, but she’s hardly an arbiter of taste.”

The meaty tang of pepperoni is already wafting up Finn’s nose. He decides not to tell Kurt that on some nights, they do this awesome thing where they turn the lights down and play cheesy 80s soft rock. That’s definitely for the best.

“Look!” Kurt points at a display case which contains an assortment of shirts, engraved pins, and merchandise that makes Carole’s old Beanie Baby collection look stylish. “We could have come here, and done the shopping and entertainment all in one!”

\--

It turns out that Kurt doesn’t need too much convincing to sign up for two hours’ bowling; it’s maybe because Finn pays, and persuades the guy at the desk to hang up their outer clothes in a heated cloakroom. When Kurt excuses himself to tell Tina that they need to rain-check on ‘Magic Mike’, Finn slips the guy at the desk ten bucks in return for a pair of shirts he saw in the display case, figuring they’d make a great gag gift for Kurt and Burt. Soon, they’re trying on their bowling shoes, and Finn’s trying to explain the rules of the game.

“You aim, bend, and bowl with one of those.” Finn points to the rack where the house balls are kept. “Sounds fun, right?”

“It’s really that easy?” Kurt selects a turquoise ball, and turns it over in his hands, appraising it. “No wonder this is America’s favorite game. Okay, I’ll admit it: this _does_ sound fun. I wish we’d made the time to do more things like this back in High School.”

“You and Blaine were inseparable,” Finn points out.

“You and Rachel’s _lips_ were inseparable,” Kurt counters.

Finn shakes his head. He’s about to ask Kurt if he ever used to go here as a kid when his classmates had birthday parties, but he also suspects Kurt was the kind of kid who never got invited to those parties. Or, Finn thinks, any parties at all. Finn rests his hand on Kurt’s shoulder; he pats it gently, thinking that he probably wouldn’t have been any better. It took him two years of high school to even start putting his need to be a decent person ahead of his need for social approval.

“These feel wrong.” Kurt sets down the third ball he tries. “Which one should I try?”

“Put your arms out,” Finn says, stretching his own in front of him, palms up. “Like this.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, but does just that. Finn looks him up and down, considering. Kurt’s not as tall or broad as Finn -- given the NBA, who _is?_ \-- but he’s filled out a lot even since his senior year of High School when he claimed he ground beans rather than spent hours at the gym. Finn places a fourteen in Kurt’s hands, noticing his posture remains completely still. He sets that down, and then tries a fifteen.

“There. That’s the one.”

Kurt snorts, still holding the ball ramrod straight. “I guess you are growing up, because you didn’t even make _one_ joke about blue balls. I suppose those are those more for someone of Quinn’s stature, though.”

Finn shakes his head, and hands the ball back to Kurt. “Go on, try it out!”

“Okay, how do I look?” Kurt bends down, testing his swing. “Manly?”

Finn chews his lip as he follows the line of Kurt’s back. Kurt’s always been quietly strong, and graceful, but he’s taken it to a new level. He’s making a bowling game look like one of those Greek paintings he saw at the Met Museum -- nothing to do with the New York Mets, as it turned out -- with all those naked guys throwing discs.

“Well. I _feel_ manly.” Kurt nods. “I’m feeling very macho, red-blooded American right now.”

“Bring it,” Finn says, choosing his own ball. He tries to tell himself he doesn’t notice how Kurt’s biceps are flexing with each swing, and almost manages to succeed.

\--

Soon, it’s 7pm. The lights are down, and the Bon Jovi plays loudly. Kurt seems able to ignore the music, swinging with confidence. He fouls a few balls in his first game, but by the end of it, he’s pumping his fists and grinning toothily as he throws a spare. By the second game, his 171 beats Finn by a whisker. By his third, Kurt’s somehow managed to get five consecutive strikes, and is bouncing along in his bowling shoes, illuminated by the rather gaudy disco lights.

“Time’s up?” Kurt shakes his head, and runs his hand through his hair, his brow a little sweaty. “That went by way too fast.”

“I know, right?” Finn extends a hand to tug Kurt to his feet. “Let’s grab a pizza and then head home.”

The bowling alley must have changed management or something, because as well as pizza they now do a pretty passable hot cocoa. It’s not as good as Kurt’s, but it’s way better than Finn’s which ends up with him wasting a lot of Swiss Miss mix, and scrubbing burned milk from the bottom of the microwave. They agree on a large pepperoni, and just enjoy the silence. The last time Finn went bowling, it was on a date with a girl from his psych class who wouldn’t let him get a word in edgeways. It was like Rachel, all over again, except Meg didn’t have talent to excuse her intensity. Kurt, on the other hand, seems to get that silence can be comfortable as well as awkward.

That is, until he looks up at Finn with wide eyes.

“Woah, what is it?” Finn pauses, seeing Kurt’s stopped eating his pizza. “Did you find a hair in your food? Santana told me that you can eat around it, and still get another one for free.”

“Ew. No, there’s....” Kurt shakes his head. “We have a problem.”

“We’re snowed in?”

“Technically, no, but there’s been a rollover accident, and I-75 is closed.”

“Well, crap.” Finn peers over his shoulder; although it’s dark outside, there’s enough light from the parking lot for Finn to see that the snow is manageable. He has winter tires on his truck, and he’s good at driving in the snow. “Want me to try the back roads?”

“My phone just died.” Kurt sighs. “Does yours have GPS?”

“I forgot my phone,” Finn admits. “I know the area pretty well, though.”

“Great. I’ll end up like Puck, sleeping in the back of your truck with nothing but a box of Thin Mints and a fifth of Jack.”

Finn turns serious, because Kurt always seems to have the answers and he isn’t suggesting anything right now. “What do you want to do?”

“Curse my bad life choices?”

“Your bad life choices?” Finn flicks a slice of pepperoni at Kurt. “It was _you_ who dragged us out here.”

“I didn’t decide on bowling!” Kurt takes a large slurp of his drink, eyes staring glumly at Finn over the rim of his cup. “If you’d listened to me, we’d be at home watching ‘Life of Brian’ and eating ziti.”

“You’re saying you didn’t have fun?”

Kurt picks up another slice of pepperoni and appraises it, before he pops it into his mouth. “I had a great deal of fun. If you wanted to spend time with me, Finn, all you had to do was ask.”

“So, you want to find somewhere to stay? My mom and I stayed in the Best Western during a snowstorm this one time.”

“Fine.” Kurt tries, and fails, to look pissed. “But they’d better have free Wi-Fi.”

\--

When they walk out of the bowling alley and into the parking lot, Finn frowns at his light blue truck, which is now mostly white due to the snow. As he knows the area well, he figures he’ll walk to the strip of hotels. There’s a Walmart nearby, and he can buy the kit he needs to de-ice his truck in the morning. Goofing around with Kurt is pretty much what he _wanted_ to do this evening, anyway. He looks up at the sky and smiles; it’s this dusky shade of blue, tinged with a little gold, and everything looks a little hazy as the snow falls gently around them. Just before they reach the entrance of the Best Western, Finn tells Kurt to turn around, and points out the pattern their footsteps make behind them. Their breaths mix together, puffing out into the chill night air, and Finn’s heart beats a little faster though he can’t quite figure out _why._

The magic fades the moment Kurt walks through the door, and fires a glare at the clerk on the front desk who’s reading a gossip magazine. “We need a room for tonight,” he says. “Two beds, please.”

“Do you have Wi-Fi?” Finn asks. “And cable?”

“Yeah.” The clerk looks about as pleased to be stuck in Wapakoneta as Kurt does. “High-speed Wi-Fi, and HBO. Would you like a suite with a whirlpool tub?”

“Gross.” Kurt scowls a little. “Like you’d seal the deal _here._ ”

“That’s true,” the clerk says, and soon checks them in, handing them the keys for their suite. She then disappears into a back room and comes out holding a tattered box, which she places on the counter. “You two are welcome to help yourself to whatever’s in last month’s lost and found. Spirit of the season, and all.”

“Thanks!” Finn says, his eyes draw to a large pair of white panties. “That’s, uh, very generous of you.”

\--

Kurt’s mood seems to pick up again as they make their way to their room. It’s spacious; technically there’s only one king bed, but the couch in the living area folds out. There are two TVs, which means they could avoid the other entirely if they wanted to. Kurt’s first move is to charge his phone, while Finn cranks up the heating and looks in the wardrobe for extra blankets; he knows Kurt gets cold at night.

“Hey.” Finn puts an extra blanket on the bed. Then, he looks at Kurt. He’s stood by the window, arms folded across his chest. “You want to borrow my sweater?”

“No, I’m just wondering whether it’s better to marinate in my own sweat, or wear that girls’ Redskins hoodie you lovingly extracted from the lost and found box.”

“It looked about your size,” Finn says, then hands Kurt the bag from the bowling alley. “Okay, I got you a little something else, too.”

Kurt reaches in and pulls out the black shirt. Its white letters state ‘Education is Important but Bowling is Importanter’. Kurt swats Finn on the shoulder, then giggles. “So _this_ is my Christmas present? Oh, Finn. You shouldn’t have!”

“They wouldn’t do me a gift receipt. In fact, they were pretty much giving them away. I bought them as a gag gift, but it’s something clean to sleep in, right? I’ll wear the hoodie. Like you said, fashion has no gender.”

“Cropped _is_ in this season,” Kurt says, a smile playing at his lips. “Can I fix you a drink?”

Finn nods. The drinks tray options are pretty limited: instant cocoa, decaf coffee, and some Lipton tea that tastes like washing-up water. While it’s not up to Kurt’s usual standards, the Styrofoam cup of warm, dark brown water that has a vague cocoa scent is one of the best things Finn’s ever tasted. They stand side by side, still comfortable in their silence, as they watch the snow continue to fall. Finn laughs, a little guilty, as a lone driver skids trying to get his fancy Navigator out of the parking lot; he’s pretty sure he’d probably look no better if he tried to drive right now.

“This isn’t just schadenfreude talking because I _really_ miss my Nav, but there’s something so magical about the snow.”

“For sure. It’s always so peaceful.”

“I wish you could have seen the first snow in New York this winter,” Kurt says, sighing. “It’s not quite the same without someone to share it with. Did you know that snowflakes absorb sound, and it really _is_ quieter?”

“No. And I feel like that’s something I _should_ know. I’m twenty years old, and Puck only just taught me that airplane toilets don’t jettison their poop. Look, I’ll be honest. If I have to be stuck in Bumfuck, Ohio, I’m glad it’s with you.”

“Me too.” Kurt breathes out, staring down into his cup. “It beats Blaine and his creepy felt puppets.”

“It does. I mean, I’d love to be snowed in with you in New York, but at least I can afford a hotel here. We’re warm, and safe, and we even got to engage in some brotherly competition.”

“Brotherly.” Kurt stares back out of the window, stepping away from Finn a little. “You keep saying that word, but...”

“That’s what we are, right?” Finn finishes his cocoa, and sets the cup down on the window ledge. “It’s not like you’d want to date me, or anything.”

Kurt clears his throat and looks at Finn, the tips of his cheeks a little pink. “Would you _want_ me to date you?”

“I, uh...” Finn’s throat grows warm, both from his drink and from something he’s only just realized he can put his finger on. “I don’t know,” he finishes, lamely. “M-maybe?”

Finn turns away, unable to look at Kurt. He stares down at the carpet, and ponders the fact that _brother_ feels a weird word to throw around between them. He’s always felt good about himself around Kurt, but he doesn’t quite feel as relaxed and comfortable with anyone else. Finn knows that he can throw it off as circumstances, and keep things casual, but he’s also aware that he just crossed the very line Kurt drew years ago. And really, he kind of hates that. He wants Kurt to be looking at him with his toothy smile, not staring at the ugly watercolor painting of a bass like it’s the Mona Lisa or something.

“Kurt, hey.” Finn sits down on the bed, and stares at his hands. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“I’m not mad at you.” Kurt takes off his winter boots, and neatly pushes them under the desk chair. “I’m mad at _me._ I’m mad that I only get you on Thanksgivings and Christmases. I’m mad that _this_ was us getting snowed-in, when it should have been in New York. I’m mad that I haven’t taken you to the Rockefeller Center to see the giant tree, or on one of those bus tours and pretended I’m not above being a tourist. You’re only two hours away, but it feels like a whole other world.”

Finn blinks. He can see Kurt’s looking at him with wide eyes, and he doesn’t quite know what to say other than the fact he’d like that, too. “I’ve seen Rachel’s New York,” he says. “I think I’d enjoy yours a whole lot more.”

“I should have done that last Christmas. I suppose when I was with Blaine, I at least had the excuse of the Marriage Equality Act.”

“Yeah, _that_ wasn’t the greatest foundation for a marriage,” Finn mutters.

“The irony of _you_ saying that.” Kurt shakes his head. “Maybe it’s not what you want, but whatever happens, you’ll always have a place in New York with me.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Finn says. “College is great, but I’m starting to think that maybe I _am_ big enough for New York. That maybe somewhere bigger is where I’m meant to be?”

Kurt doesn’t respond initially. He looks towards Finn, his expression unreadable, and exhales. Slowly, he sets the flat of his palm on Finn’s thigh. Kurt’s shoulders rise and fall a little more quickly, but his expression doesn’t change as his fingers trace small circles on Finn’s clothed skin. His cheeks, however, grow a little pinker, and Finn _knows_ this gesture. It only means one thing, and yet it feels no different than all the nights he used to spend watching TV with Kurt back in High School. Finn closes his eyes; he thinks about Kurt who talks about everything from whether Guy Fieri wears a wig, to how Finn’s worried he’ll end up like his father. He doesn’t care that Finn’s a simple guy, with simple dreams; he might tease Finn about the choices he makes, but...

 _Tease._ The word catches in his brain, as Kurt inches his fingers up a little higher. He only stops when Finn’s breath hitches, and he places his hand over Kurt’s.

“Oh, Finn. I’m sorry.” Kurt shakes his head. “I’m so sorry, I thought --”

“Don’t be sorry. This is...” Finn searches his brain. “Nice?”

“The hotel? It’s alright, I suppose.”

“You know I wasn’t talking about the hotel.”

Kurt laughs. He doesn’t respond, but he makes no attempt to move their joined hands. He wiggles a little closer to Finn, their thighs pressed tightly together, and Finn stares down at his lap. He knows what he’s supposed to do, and he knows what he _should_ want to do, but he also doesn’t know what Kurt wants from him, and it’s making him dizzy. Finn really wishes Kurt would do that thing he does where he seems to read his mind, but then that would be counterproductive, given that Finn’s mind is firing out all kinds of suggestions.

“Tell me what to do,” Finn says, unable to hide the wobble in his voice. “Please.”

“You know it’s unfair to ask me that.”

Finn exhales, and chews at his lip. He curls his hand around Kurt’s back, and pulls him close. “So this... _me._ Is that really what you want?”

“I never _stopped_ wanting you.” Kurt’s head tilts up, his eyes bright. “So go on. Tell me you’re freaked out. Tell me you’re going to run back home in the snow, or sleep in your coat on the fold-out couch, or that you’re going to bring this up at mine and Blaine’s wedding speech when we get oh-so-unhappily married, and --” Kurt’s voice hitches. “Just tell me.”

“Well, yeah, of _course_ I’m freaked out!” Finn says, then takes a deep breath because Kurt’s eyes are growing wider and his bottom lip is wobbling. “It’s freaking me out, but not because of _that._ ”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kurt prompts, one eyebrow raised.

“That maybe I am, you know...” Finn swallows, the word not unpleasant but sticky on his tongue. “ _Gay._ That maybe...” Finn shifts a little to cup Kurt’s jaw, his palm scratching against the light stubble he finds there. “Maybe deep down, I knew that the snow might work in my favor, and that I was happy to come all the way out here instead of going to Target and picking up some Russell Stover candies for my mom.”

“I did wonder why you didn’t protest,” Kurt says, quietly.

“So why didn’t you just ask me out? You know I’d have taken you bowling, or gone out to dinner, or done anything you’d asked. We’re not kids. It’s not like your dad would chase me with a shotgun and yell about me breaking curfew.”

“I wouldn’t put that past Carole.”

“My mom loves you,” Finn says, without hesitation.

“And Burt’s pretty crazy about you, especially after you proved your worth in the tire shop. If you were even _slightly_ into boys, I can’t imagine he would have pushed me towards my engagement with Blaine.”

“I guess poor taste runs in the family,” Finn laughs.

Kurt laughs back, bright and beautiful. It breaks the tension between them, although Finn catches sight of his reflection in the mirror opposite the bed and notices he looks half-drunk, and also a little like he’s about to have a heart attack. He can’t believe how easy this is; Kurt’s a _guy,_ and everyone calls them _brothers,_ and it really shouldn’t be that easy at all.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Finn says. He gets up, and reaches into the bag to extract the other t-shirt he bought from the bowling alley.

\--

It isn’t _just_ a get-out clause. Finn really does need to pee, and he also needs to change out of his too-warm thermals. He’s feeling swimmy, and a little lightheaded, like that time him and Puck inhaled a bunch of helium from those party balloons back in freshman year. After he pees, he sits down on the toilet, and does those relaxation exercises that Rachel taught him all the way back in high school. It’s more helpful than doing karate moves in the mirror, he guesses. Finn’s head tells him that he’s allowed to have time to process this; his heart tells him that he should have shelled out the extra twenty bucks for the room with the whirlpool tub.

Okay. Finn loves the guy; that’s not new. But he’s always figured that he loved Kurt like family. Kurt, himself, was the one who started with the whole _brothers_  thing, and Kurt’s the one who points out girls he thinks Finn would like on the few times they’ve been to college parties together. Kurt’s done all that, while wanting _Finn_? 

It’s obvious that Kurt loves him. But, okay, Finn’s more than a little bit in love with Kurt, too.

Finn does _one_ karate chop in front of the mirror for old time’s sake, and then changes into his bowling alley shirt. He splashes some cold water on his face, and looks at himself in the mirror. He still looks like he’s about to have a heart attack, but he’s also wearing a grin wider than the George Washington Bridge, so he figures that’s not exactly a _bad_ thing.

\--

When Finn walks back out in his bare feet, Kurt’s on top of the bed. He’s wearing the t-shirt Finn bought for him and one of the hotel bathrobes over the top. Now that Finn’s acknowledged Kurt’s someone he can look at like that, it’s difficult to stop. He manages to tear his gaze away when Kurt passes him a steaming Styrofoam cup.

“Buttered rum?” Finn asks.

“Who am I, Martha Stewart? It’s more hot cocoa, I’m afraid. “

“Guess we’re the last of the great romantics.”

“Who said anything about romance?” Kurt says, flopping down on the bed so his head hits the pillows. “I don’t know why, but this really isn’t awkward.”

“Yeah, this is the first time hooking up with someone when it’s _not_ been awkward.”

They’re both quiet at that, and Finn sips on his hot cocoa. It’s not even two minutes before Kurt shucks off his robe from his shoulders and tosses it on the floor. He gets into bed, pulling the covers up to waist height, and pats the sheets beside him. Finn, in his cheap t-shirt and cheaper boxers, feels warm all over as he joins Kurt. They’re soon facing each other, and Finn takes a deep breath as he watches Kurt carefully. He decides to start slow; he gently rubs at Kurt’s shoulders, massaging his skin. Kurt tilts his head back a little, and then his hands grip Finn’s back, pushing them so closely together that Finn can smell the faint trace of spicy cologne on the curve of Kurt’s neck.

“What was it Puck said?” Kurt wonders aloud. “Two dudes in one bed is confirmed gay?”

Finn feels a little like he’s trapped in a static charge, his eyes darting down to Kurt’s lips. “Yeah, because _Puck_ would know." 

“Are you going to make a move on me, Finn Hudson?” Kurt says, his warm breath hitting the side of Finn’s check, and making his toes twitch. “Or do I need to run out and buy some fake mistletoe?”

Finn doesn’t need to be asked twice. He settles a hand on Kurt’s waist, running it beneath the fabric of his shirt and down to the curve of his back. Kurt’s own hand settles on Finn’s jaw, his breathing becoming faster. When their lips finally meet, it’s softer than any snow Finn’s ever seen. Finn sighs into Kurt’s parted mouth, feeling Kurt’s teeth gently nibble at his lower lip before they pull apart.

“Mm.” Kurt rubs at Finn’s lip with the pad of his thumb. “Confirmed gay, then?”

“I think I’ll have to check,” Finn says, and draws Kurt in again. This time, the kiss goes a little deeper, Finn rolling Kurt over so he’s on his back. Kurt’s hand rests firm on Finn’s hip, sliding up to tug lightly at Finn’s hair. Finn whimpers when Kurt scratches at the soft hair just behind his nape. Making out’s hardly new for either of them, but this is something entirely different; Finn takes his time, hoping his smile says more than his clumsy words ever could. He takes his time to kiss Kurt’s jaw, and chin, and then mouths at the sweet patch of skin between Kurt’s neck and shoulder until Kurt’s giggling and swatting him away.

“So?” Kurt’s voice is light. “Did your very scientific study reach any conclusions?”

“I’m confirmed not straight,” Finn admits, sliding his hand down until it’s just above the waistband of Kurt’s underwear.

“No, Finn. Not tonight.”

“No?” Finn kisses up Kurt’s neck, sucking the skin a little harder in his mouth.

“This is everything I ever wanted for Christmas. It’s also a little... sudden. Let’s not let circumstance result in rash decisions. We both know where _that_ leads.”

“Yeah.” Finn’s pretty sure that Kurt’s alluding to their respective engagements, but then, he’s also aware they have two weeks to start figuring this all out and doing a lot more besides. He’s not sure what Kurt wants him to say, or if Kurt wants him to say anything at all, so he pulls the covers up over them and lets Kurt snuggle against his chest, brushing his fingers lightly through Kurt’s thick hair. “You know, I can’t even imagine how many guys in New York are jealous of me right now.”

“ _Dozens._ And yet here I am, choosing to spend my time with you.”

“Well, the choice was kind of taken out of our hands.” Finn presses a quick kiss against the top of Kurt’s head. “Too bad, really.”

“Too bad indeed,” Kurt echoes. He smiles up at Finn, eyes even more bright and beautiful than even the fanciest Christmas lights Finn’s seen. He takes in Kurt’s hair, which is messy from where Finn’s tugged at it; he takes in Kurt’s sharp cheekbones that make him look just the wrong side of innocent. He takes the opportunity to just _look,_ and it makes the breath catch in his throat.

“Why me?” Finn asks. “I mean, you said yourself, you could have anyone in New York, and I’m not exactly perfect.”

“No, but I’d never expect you to be,” Kurt says, his thumb settling on Finn’s lower lip. “Don’t you ever sell yourself short, okay?”

“I’m not selling myself, period. Although I did think about doing that kissing booth stunt again to help me pay for college next year. You’d have paid at least a dollar.”

“Mm. Maybe even a dollar fifty.”

“Well, you get me for free.” Finn says, resting their foreheads together.

“Definitely a unique present. One of a kind, you might say.”

“Nah.” Finn presses the tip of his finger to Kurt’s nose. “ _You_ are one of a kind.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, but he also makes a happy little sigh that Finn’s never heard before. Soon, their bodies are curled up together, and it feels so natural that Finn thinks this is probably where they were meant to be all along. Finn’s dealt with being part of something due to necessity, and he’s dealt with being part of something because it’s someone else’s idea. This is _his_ idea; after he’s realized it’s love he’s been feeling for Kurt, he thinks that they’d probably have ended up just like this if they _had_ been holed up at home gorging on baked ziti.

Kurt traces his fingers down Finn’s chest. “Is this _really_ my reality?”

“Guess that stupid Hat of Fate thing was right.”

“You know Santana rigged that thing?” Kurt says. “I mean, not that it matters, because I don’t believe in fate. I believe in going after what you want, not in taking whatever comes.”

“Even if going after what you want is the hardest option?”

“Still worth it,” Kurt says, and Finn can’t help but kiss him again, tracing the curve of Kurt’s smile with his lips. “We need to work through what this means before we do anything else, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Let me do this right.”

“Oh, you’re going to woo me with a Stouffer’s lasagna and a Sara Lee pound cake?”

“I’d at least go to the Krispy Kreme.”

“It’s nice to know you care,” Kurt says. “But you have to acknowledge that Rachel and Blaine are going to care, too. And they’re going to be angry. They might be a little _less_ angry if we don’t sneak around behind their backs.”

“Blaine has no right to be angry, but Rachel? Yeah, I have no idea how she’ll take this. We’ll figure it out. I mean, we have two weeks, and after that, it’s not so long until Spring Break.”

Kurt smiles. “I’ve always wanted to go to Long Island.”

“We could find a bed and breakfast with a dog, and one of those porch swings. Then there’s Memorial Day.”

“And Dead Week,” Kurt continues.

“Then after that, it’s summer! Ice cream, and fishing, and camping by the lake.”

“I tuned out after you said ice cream. I’ve had enough cold for one day.”

Finn kind of agrees, at least in the sense of snow. He presses a kiss to Kurt’s head and holds him tightly, sharing their body heat. It’s weird; he’s never done this with someone who doesn’t need his physical protection. It doesn’t change the fact that Finn wants to protect Kurt with everything he has, and he knows that he’s due for a lot of uncomfortable memories while he works on why it took him quite so long to figure it all out.

“Goodnight, Finn.” Kurt tilts his head just enough so Finn can give him one last kiss. “Let that tide you over until you brush your teeth in the morning.”

“I... I love you,” Finn blurts out. 

Kurt’s reply is short, but sure. “I love you, too.”

With that said, Finn reaches across Kurt’s body and turns off the lights. He feels warm, but not the same intense, burning need he did on his teenage dates with Rachel and Quinn. His lips still tingle from Kurt’s touch, and he can taste the beeswax and menthol of Kurt’s chap-stick. Kurt’s breathing deepens in no time at all, and it’s so reassuring that Finn wants it to be the last thing he hearts before he goes to sleep every night.

And maybe, just maybe? It might be, because if they can survive a snowy night in Wapakoneta, New York should be a piece of cake.

 


End file.
